Wednesday, September 12, 2012

4;50pm - My Apologies to Wordsworth

The art of bad poetry is,
the awkward lines,
the pathetic rhymes,
the nonsensical metaphors,
the cliches, the hyperboles,
and the liberal use of what it means,
to be "free verse".

I am repeat offender to all of the above
and honestly, more.
Blame it on my education,
or lack of appreciation
of metre and scansion.
Yes, I wish I knew more.

But above all,
I will transfer what is written,
on the skin of my heart
to the skin of the blank page.

For what is poetry
but the messy transplant of
emotions and connections
from the internal to the external.

I apologize to Chaucer and Wordsworth,
Pope and Shakespeare,
and those other gods of ink and paper.

I am young and shallow,
Brainless and unfocused,
And I have yet to experience,
the heavy novel idea of humanity.

My pen will only write what is in the deepest part of me.
And for that, I offer my sincerest apologies.

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